


Hot Mess

by tomanonuniverse



Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, Fair Game Week 2020, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Men Crying, Vulnerability, fair game, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomanonuniverse/pseuds/tomanonuniverse
Summary: Fair Game Week 2020 Day One: Flirting/SemblancesFor a moment, Clover looks completely at war with himself. Like he doesn't know whether he should tell Qrow, whether he should trust him, with that particular piece of information. To everyone else, Clover Ebi was a beacon of positivity that took every insult in stride and every praise in humility.But this wasn't just anyone. This was Qrow.“Despite our semblances being polar opposites in almost every aspect,” Clover begins weakly, turning his head and looking away from Qrow and down to his fidgeting hands, “they're so much more similar than you could ever imagine.”
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665484
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	Hot Mess

**Author's Note:**

> [me shoving clover semblance headcannons down yalls throats] take it
> 
> im super nervous but here we are!!! yippe ka yay!!!

“Just because my semblance is  _ good luck,  _ Qrow, doesn't mean that it's a  _ good thing.” _

Qrow's teeth clack together rather loudly in the silence of the Schnee manor balcony he frequented to escape the hoity-toity Atlesian gathering held within. He'd known Clover would follow him, he always does, and engaged in their usual banter-flirting. Naturally, it almost always had a bad semblance joke or two thrown in here and there. 

Yet it seemed he'd stepped over a line with whatever it was he last said because Clover was glaring at the ground below them like it personally offended him, brows knit together and hands clenched into fists. He suddenly blinked the expression away, looking startled by his own outburst. He whips his head to look at Qrow with wide and mortified eyes, then quickly averts his gaze. 

“I— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that, friend. It was uncalled for,” he murmurs, voice laced with nothing but absolute shame. Qrow felt as if a wrench had been thrown into his chest because of the way the Atlesian Huntsman spoke. He'd always been confident and optimistic in his speech. Seeing him so reserved… Qrow didn't like it at all. 

He takes a small step forward and reaches for the Ace Operative, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it's okay,” Qrow reassures gently. “Gods know how many times  _ I've  _ snapped at  _ you  _ when we joke about our semblances. I'm sorry I crossed a line and said something that bothered you.”

“But you didn't!” Clover interjects. “Well, I mean, you  _ did,  _ but it's not your fault. You didn't mean to. I don't really tell people what bothers me and what doesn't so you couldn't have known.”

Were Qrow not concerned about the other's strange behavior, the awkward rambling would have been endearing to watch. Clover clears his throat and looks away in embarrassment, so Qrow simply squeezes his shoulder. “Can you tell me what it was I said that upset you so I can avoid saying it again?” 

For a moment, Clover looks completely at war with himself. Like he doesn't know whether he should tell Qrow, whether he should  _ trust  _ him, with that particular piece of information. To everyone else, Clover Ebi was a beacon of positivity that took every insult in stride and every praise in humility. 

But this wasn't just anyone. This was Qrow. 

“Despite our semblances being polar opposites in almost every aspect,” Clover begins weakly, turning his head and looking away from Qrow and down to his fidgeting hands, “they're so much more similar than you could _ever_ imagine.”

Qrow fought back the rude scoff he'd immediately wanted to let out. This wasn't the time nor the place to reject his friend. Clover was sharing something important with him, putting himself in a vulnerable state, and he wouldn't break that trust. 

He gives him an encouraging nod to continue, so he does. “Your semblance, from what you've told me, is that you project misfortune on the people around you, right?” Clover asks, to which Qrow confirms with a confused nod. “Well, my semblance projects  _ good  _ fortune, but… it's not as  _ comprehensive _ as yours is.”

The Branwen's brows furrow. “I… I don't understand,” he replies hesitantly, hoping that it wouldn't be a bother to indirectly ask Clover to elaborate. He hates talking as much as the next person and you'd think it'd be easy for someone as charismatic and smooth as Clover, but evidently, it was just as difficult. 

Clover sighs in defeat like he'd been hoping that the other would miraculously catch on despite his vagueness. “What I'm trying to say is…” He starts, straightening his back and sliding his shoulder away from Qrow's hand. “My semblance doesn't extend to those around me. It affects  _ me _ and  _ only  _ me. Good fortune for  _ me _ does  _ not _ mean good fortune for  _ everyone.” _

And just like that, the invisible wall Qrow had set up between them, the  _ he’s-good-I’m-bad-he’s-perfect-I’m-not  _ wall, shattered into a million pieces. Clover didn’t have to elaborate any further, yet he he went on.

“My semblance chooses me over everyone else, no matter what. Sometimes, that could be the difference between life or death for those I surround myself with.”

Words that have only ever haunted Qrow within his own mind were being echoed back at him by the last person he’d ever expect to say them. Clover turns to him and Qrow finds the air getting punched out of his lungs at the sight of tears in the man’s eyes. 

“I’ve lost... _so much,_ because the luck someone else needed on _their_ side was on _mine,"_ Clover confesses, hands shaking as he slowly began to fall apart. "It’s how I lost my _father,_ and that’s something that’s _never_ going to leave me. So I need you to understand that my semblance isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, okay? I can’t _stand it_ when anyone talks about it like that. Not when it’s gotten people _killed.”_

_ “Fuck,  _ Clover,” Qrow finally breathes, eyes wide. All he does is take a single step closer to the other before Clover is collapsing into his arms, sobbing into the crook of his neck and gripping the back of his rugged red cape like his life depended on it. Qrow wraps his arms around the hunk of a man almost protectively, holding him tightly to his chest with no intention of letting go anytime soon. For a while, he’s just standing there, but he begins running his hand through the other’s soft brown hair. 

“It’s okay, Boy-Scout, I’ve got you,” he whispers to him, “I’ve got you.” 

It only intensifies Clover’s cries, but they eventually fade into soft hiccups with time. Qrow continues to hold onto the man’s shaky frame until he pulls away first, sniffling and palming at his eyes, desperately trying and failing to hide his face from the other.

“I’m sorry about the things I’ve said,” Qrow apologizes sympathetically. “I really didn’t think much of them, but now… They must’ve been so insensitive. I’m sorry to have brought back bad memories and to have forced you to talk about it.”

But Clover laughs airily and wipes at his glimmering teal eyes. “No, no, it’s okay,” he replies quickly, “you didn’t force anything out of me. I wanted to talk about it. I  _ needed  _ to. It felt… It felt really good to finally get that off my chest.”

Qrow’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You’ve never talked about it with anyone before?”

Clover shoots him a smile. “Never had anyone who would understand it before.”

The Huntsman doesn’t hide the dumbass grin that stretches on his face. Clover rolls his puffy eyes and glares the Schnee balcony’s doors. “... I don’t think I want to go back in there. Not looking like this.”

Qrow hums in thought. He glances out into the night’s sky, then at the ground, then turns back to Clover and shrugs. “Let’s bail,” he says simply. Clover opens his mouth to object but Qrow holds a hand up to stop him. “If you’re gonna tell me Jimmy’s not gonna be happy about it then you’ve clearly forgotten that I couldn’t give less of a damn about that man and what he thinks of anything ever.” 

Clover slaps a hand over his mouth at the snort he lets out at the words. “Okay, okay,” he relents, a strange feeling blooming into his chest as he moves closer to the railing. They weren’t too high up and his regular landing strategy should be just fine from this distance. He silently envied Qrow’s ability to shapeshift into a corvid. “Where are we going?”

He shrugs and swings his legs over the railing of the balcony. “I dunno. You’re the one who lives in Atlas, you tell me,” he retorts cheekily, to which Clover rolls his eyes at again. 

“Oh, and for the record…” Qrow begins, turning back to him for a second and shooting him a wink. “I think the  _ hot-mess _ look suits you,” he says, missing the blush that blooms onto the Atlesian's face as he takes off. 


End file.
